


'Tis Wearying, The Sorrow I Bear.

by elrondhalfelven



Series: Of Elrond Peredhel [11]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, First Age, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrondhalfelven/pseuds/elrondhalfelven
Summary: Elrond has been wronged too many times to not feel conflicted.
Series: Of Elrond Peredhel [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185962
Kudos: 9





	'Tis Wearying, The Sorrow I Bear.

Though the rickety boards of varnished wood which he sat upon were firmly uncomfortable, Elrond welcomed the presence of something solid and grounding beneath his crossed legs. The air rocked against the embellished ship, like a sea which had only just stilled after a mightily tempest storm. The vessel itself was as translucent as memory; he remembered how, many years ago, it had dipped below the horizon line of a pebble sky ablaze with the licking flames of the setting sun. Elrond had been only two years old then, neither old enough to have experienced grief nor wise enough to have foreseen its coming- as surely as the first tumultuous wave of the rolling sea before the coming of the storm.

Dark clouds had lingered over his head since.

“Elrond.”

There was a light pressure upon his shoulder, fingers brushing against his back as though they were hesitant to touch him lest he jolt or flinch. His name sounded strange upon his father’s tongue.

It should not be like this.

“I hope you know how proud I am of you, Elrond. This would have been your mother’s will; to see you live well and for long.”

“But not yours?” The question was not asked in bitterness. Yet spite too often overcasts the words of the righteous, when they have been wronged. 

Silence. Elrond had not expected a reply, though; it was not as though he had been answered before, anyway. The starlight glimmered against his shadowy hair as he stood, his face darkened and brooding as midnight. Wearily, he strode over to the finely-crafted stern of his father’s ship and rested his elbows upon the cream bannister, his ivory tunic swaying about his lean form as he closed his leaden eyelids and allowed the summer winds to caress against his cheeks. 

He wanted to ask. To demand explanations for all that he had been denied for so long, too long. There was this strange, unfamiliar gnawing within his stomach that yearned for comfort and protection under the arms of his father, to curl up against his side and make frivolous promises of forgiveness. It was a horrid feeling that had surfaced and Elrond wanted no part of it. 

He had not wanted any of this.

“I am sorry, Elrond.”

“No.”

“No? I assure you-”

“Years have passed. Decades have been and gone.”

“I do not understand.” 

“Of course you do not. I am tired, father.”

Elrond turned his chin away from the gleaming starlight, succumbing to the dampness of the air about them which soothed his feverish brow. The back of his father’s hand swept gently over his forehead, feeling the perspiration which mounted there. A weathered hand brushed strands of ebony hair away from his evening eyes as they slid shut once more.

“I am weary.” Elrond whispered once more: to his father, to the wind, to the world. 

He slept upon the chiselled floorboards that night.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any Elrond related prompts that you would like me to write, my tumblr is lord-elrond-halfelven.


End file.
